Highway to Hell
by SnappleAddict
Summary: The road from Richmond, Va to Fiddlers Green, Pittsburgh, Pa is a long one, filled with zombies and immoral nomads. The good news is that Izzy Peterson caught a ride on a 1970 Ford Torino. That bad news is that the driver is potentially psychotic...


**Hey, enjoy. And you know. Feel free to review, and stuff. I'll probably update by Friday.**

**Set after DotD, about two weeks before Land. **

She had been running for what felt like forever. Her limbs and face had been virtually torn apart (or so it felt) by the thousand and one thorn bushes that she had crashed through trying to escape from the zombies.

Izzy Peterson looked back to check the distance between her and the horde of undead that stumbled mindlessly after her. They didn't look fast, but the zombies covered distances surprisingly quick.

While her head was turned, Izzy barreled into the outstretched arms of another zombie. She shrieked, pushing the thing away and being knocked over in the process. Her once manicured, perfect hands clawed the muddy ground in an attempt to pull herself away from the zombie before it bit her. Izzy had seen first hand what a zombie bite could do to a person.

"Get away!" Izzy cried, kicking the zombie's head with her bare feet. Once, she felt it's teeth scrape against the flesh of her foot, but it didn't penetrate. More moans, closer this time. The zombies she had been trying to escape had closed the distance.

Somehow summoning the strength to get up to her tired arms, Izzy launched herself forward, legs pumping. With the last of her stamina, she at last broke free of the woods, making it all the way to the desolate old road that led to I-45 before exhausting the last of her energy and collapsing on the ground. The zombies behind her began moving in for the kill.

Izzy closed her eyes, expecting at any moment to receive a bite. Instead, a quick succession of gunshots assaulted her ears. Slowly, Izzy opened her eyes and focused on the black boots that filled her vision for a moment before being hauled to her feet.

Her rescuer was about six feet tall, and apparently strong based on the way he simply picked up 120 pounds of dead weight. The man was wearing a pair of jeans, a camouflaged jacket, and a face-obscuring paintball helmet.

"How many zombies?" he asked gruffly.

"Um...eight. No. Nine. I think nine." The man tilted his head slightly, looking past her. After a few moments, he seemed satisfied.

"Good. Now," he said leveling the pistol at her forehead. "Strip."

Izzy took a second to register his order. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she wasn't surprised. If her step-dad was any indicator, all men cared about was sex and beer.

"You're gonna rape me," she accused.

The man laughed, and this only served to enrage Izzy. It was bad enough that he was going to do _that_, but to laugh about it was purely obscene. Nonetheless, she began to pull her clothes off.

"Faster, dammit!" the man demanded, scanning the area. "The shots will bring more of them."

Izzy fumbled her way out of her clothes then kneeled on the ground, truly feeling more miserable and alone then ever.

"Idiot! Stand up. Rotate."

She did as she was told, giving a total stranger complete access to what should be shared with only trusted people. Izzy flat out burst into tears when the man forced her legs open and looked her thighs up and down.

"Good, good," he muttered. "Grab your clothes. Hurry, they'll be coming soon." THAT was unexpected, to say the least.

"Wha?"

"Now, girl. I ain't got time for nonsense."

He led her to a car, a fast-looking muscle car painted a deep red. He opened the door on the driver side and started the car.

"My name's Charlie, by the way," the man said. "You can go ahead and put your clothes on now. It'll take a while for enough of them to gather and flip us over." He removed the helmet, revealing his face. 'Charlie' looked like he was in his early thirties, with jet black hair all but shaved off and the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow.

"Sorry about making you strip but I had to make sure you weren't bitten."

"Couldn't you have, you know, ASKED?!?" Izzy yelled.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because," Charlie answered, shifting the car into 1st. "One, you're a civilian. You have no idea how to handle a crisis. Two, you're a woman, a member of a gender I find to be most untrustworthy. And three, you're an American. It's a defining trait of our people to lie about the simplest things."

"Those are some sweeping generalizations."

"I don't give a shit," Charlie said, sliding on a pair of aviator sunglasses. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Thanks. So. Charlie," Izzy said. "Where we headed?"

"North. It's a lot safer there," he said. "You got a name?"

"Izzy," she answered

"Izzy? That's a stupid name for a girl."

"It's short for Isabel, you jackass."

Charlie shrugged. He offered her a cigarette from his jacket pocket. She refused, so he lit up himself.

"Ok Izzy. I found you, out of sheer fucking luck, being chased by zombies, which I might add, are a global issue now. That cost me ten bullets from my limited supply, and having an extra person means my supplies run out twice as early. You got somewhere you need to be, Izzy? Someplace I can get rid of you?"

"I was heading to Richmond with my brothers..."

"Richmond's no good," Charlie said swerving around a tanker that blocked the road. "Just came on the ole wireless. All of em dead. Torn to fucking pieces. Pittsburgh's still safe. I mean, Fiddler's Green is safe. That's where I'm heading. The rest of the city is all zombified, know what I'm saying? Hey! Get off the fucking road, asshole!"

A battered looking group of people were camping out by a number of totaled cars and a flipped over SUV. Several of them were armed and they were taking shots at zombies that got too close. One of the men ran up to the car, a wild look in his eyes.

"Help us, please!"

"Ain't go no room for you people man! This Torino's got two seats, and as you can see, both are filled."

"We're running out of food and ammo! Can you spare some?"

"Look pal. We haven't eaten in six days. I don't even remember the last time I seen good ammo," Charlie lied smoothly. "Now move."

"Can you at least give us a hand?"

"With?" Charlie asked.

"The Ranger. Maybe we can all flip it over."

"Sorry, man. I got places to be." Charlie started to move the Torino forward. Izzy noticed all the women in the group were unarmed and handcuffed, and the armed men stopped shooting zombies and were moving in. She tugged Charlie's jacket.

"Charlie, I think something is wrong," she whispered.

He turned to talk to Izzy. The man he was talking to raised his gun and pointed it at Charlie's head. "Get out the car, man. Move!" Charlie sighed, as if dealing with a small child. He threw the door open, knocking the man down on the ground. The rifle discharged harmlessly into the air.

"Not one step closer, you fucking pricks!" Charlie hollered, drawing his pistol. The two gunmen looked at each other. "I don't give a shit what you do with those women or the girl, but I really don't want my ride shot up! Put 'em down!"

Izzy's heart was racing. Her she was, finally starting to think that maybe Charlie wasn't such a bad guy, and here he was trying to use her to barter for his car. A car! The men seemed to think it was a good idea to save their bullets and put their guns down on the ground.

"What are you, fucking naive? Man," Charlie said, shaking his head. He shot both of them, the first in the throat, and the second in the chest. They dropped to the ground, dead or dying.

Charlie turned his attention to the first man, the one who provided the distraction. He was on the ground, bleeding and shaking visibly. Charlie flicked the cigarette out and drug the man over to the handcuffed women and cut their bonds. They rubbed their wrists and woozily got to their feet.

"Okay bud," Charlie started. "You are one stupid shit. I personally don't care what you did those people in them cars, where these ladies came from, what you were doing to them, and what you were going to do with them. However. You tried to jack my ride. So now, I'm going to leave you in the company of your new friends, and leave your fate up to them. Fun!"

"You can't do that! You fucker!"

"Don't curse around woman. It's rude," Charlie scolded hypocritically. He turned to the women. "You need a hand getting that Ranger on it's wheels?"

"I guess," one of them said nervously, shaken from her ordeal.

"You heard the lady, bud. Hop to it!" Charlie ordered cheerfully. His smile widened just the smallest bit when one of the women hit their new captive with the butt of her rifle. He spit two teeth and some blood out on the asphalt.

"You're insane. Clinically insane," Izzy said when Charlie got back in the driver's seat.

"Yep. Certifiable."

"So you're just gonna leave those women here?"

"They got a truck. Beyond that, I don't give a flying fuck what they do. Follow us, kill themselves, whatever. We however, are heading north. Should be in Pittsburgh in six hours or so."

Charlie turned on the CD player, putting in a burned disk hastily marked 'Charlie's Tunes'. The first track started playing, and Charlie began singing and bopping along to the music.

"Goin' down, party time! My friends are gonna be there too! I'm on the highway to Hell! On the highway to Hell! Highway to Hell!" Charlie sang at the top of his lungs. He got into the song, flooring the car. Izzy felt like she was being sucked into the seat from the speed.

"No stop signs! Speed limit! Nobody's gonna slow me down! Next stop, Pittsburgh baby!" Charlie yelled over Bon Scott to Izzy, his eyes hidden behind the tinted lenses of the aviators. "Highway to Hell!"


End file.
